


The Shadow King

by PapuruKakugan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Scott, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Breeding, Fluff, Impregnation, King Peter, Knotting, M/M, Mpreg, Objectification, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Prince Derek, Princess Cora, Rape/Non-con Elements, Scent Marking, Scenting, forced unknotting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2018-08-13 10:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7972969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PapuruKakugan/pseuds/PapuruKakugan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*Not just Porn without Plot, lots of plot. Multi-chapter galore.* XD</p>
<p>
  <i>"The Overseer was attuned to their Alpha's movements and quickly ushered away those he'd barely glanced at, his attention wavering between the three male Omega's now naked in front of him.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>There was a deep rumble in the Alpha's chest and Stiles knew it was aimed for him. The Alpha was calling to him, choosing him. His body went loose and slick started dribbling between his cheeks as his eyes lit up gold in response to his Alpha."</i>
</p>
<p>Stiles thought being chosen as the newest breeding slave for the Alpha was the end; he was wrong, it was only the beginning of a his new life. Follow Stiles as he navigates spies, invasions, deception, treason and more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was so quiet in the dormitory. Everyone was asleep. Everyone except Stiles that is. He couldn't sleep. His mind kept wandering to tomorrow's events. They're meeting the Alpha. He was prepared for this. Had been preparing for nearly 2 years. How to look vacant and as if he couldn't hold an intellectual conversation. How to look  _boring._

* * *

Stiles and the other Omega's had been scrubbed, combed, clothed (minimally) and were presented in the Alpha's viewing chamber. They were being perused like cattle, their statistics listed off instead of their names.

The sneering Overseer was attuned to their Alpha's movements and quickly ushered away those he'd barely glanced at, his attention wavering between the three male Omega's now naked in front of him.

Stiles was the shortest of the group at only 5' 2'', but he wasn't the thinnest, he had muscle. Lean muscle so slight on his frame it was almost imperceptible. He'd always made sure to look after himself as much as possible whilst being confined to group rooms and schooled in their training. He'd used low hanging beams for pull-ups, ran short circles around their beds until he was dizzy, push ups were performed with other Omega's sat on his feet while they read their textbooks.

The other Omega's thought him defiant when he refused to sit and read the same tomes again and again. He wasn't defiant, he'd already absorbed everything from them in one sitting. Stiles' intellect was a carefully hidden secret from everyone. It was better that way, it gave him more of a chance to escape.

Stiles' skin was pebbled from the cool air surrounding them, the only heat radiating from the Alpha before the shivering Omega's. Stiles had never thought he'd be chosen, there were other's better suited to the task. They were taller, their features more symmetrical, their gait poised and precise. Stiles was just background decoration in comparison to them. He realised he wasn't so lucky however when he chanced a glance at the two other boys beside him, this Alpha clearly had a type.

Suddenly Alpha Ennis' scent became overwhelming as he drew closer, closer to Stiles. There was a deep rumble in the Alpha's chest and Stiles knew it was aimed at him. The Alpha was calling to him, _choosing_ him. His body went loose and slick started dribbling between his cheeks as his eyes lit up gold in response to his Alpha.

He wanted to scream, cry and beg for someone else to be chosen. He wanted to be discarded like the others had. He wanted the Alpha to stop making his body _want_.

The Alpha stepped forward and wrapped a huge hand around the nape of his neck, squeezing gently to force his body more into submission. His 6' 4'' form was crowded against the Omega's front, red eyes boring into gold as he slid his hands around Stiles' ass. He was lifted up and automatically wrapped his legs around his Alpha's firm waist.

Stiles was already hard and aching to be filled as he was carried to the Alpha's chambers, his hips wouldn't stop bucking as fingers dug into the meat of his thighs. He was thrown onto the bed as the Alpha ripped his own clothes away, revealing the most devastating body. Lithe sculpted muscle and thick veins ran down his whole form, huge pectorals and deltoids made Stiles' mouth water. A thick, angry red cock hung obscenely low and glistened with precum. This man was a _God_  in corporeal form.

Stiles' legs parted automatically for the now approaching Alpha, crawling over the sheets and forcing the Omega to scoot backwards into the plush pillows. He felt like he was being hunted, despite having already been caught under this beast of a man.

He really was a beast, Stiles was 12 when he'd watched the invading armies smash their city walls. His mother had been killed in the fray, he had been wrenched out of his father's hands by one of Alpha Ennis' lieutenants. He had watched his city burn in fire and blood.

That had been two years ago, and he had since been trained to please their Alpha. He can't speak to him, can't say no to him, can't deny him children. That was Stiles' purpose here. Every month a new Omega was chosen and brought to the Alpha's chambers. Every month the Alpha fucked a litter into them. Every month they wondered if the Omega would be killed for being infertile.

It had been horrific to learn that Alpha Ennis had killed a 13 year old Omega for not bearing him children. Four months he had her in his bed and she had not caught. She'd quietly disappeared to the public but the guards whispers were loud in the dead of night.

Stiles couldn't believe he was whimpering and whining for the Alpha to bury himself between his soaked thighs. This Alpha who'd caused his mothers death, kidnapped him from his father's arms and brought ruin to hundreds of families. He was so ashamed.

When Alpha Ennis' cock finally breached him he felt complete. Alpha and Omega joined in sinful coalition. He was pinned down, writhing against the sheets, pushing down onto Alpha's cock as he snarled above him.

His leg was grabbed and yanked as he was forced on his hands and knees, thick cock barely leaving him empty as Alpha pinned him to the bed once more. He was propelled backwards and impaled on the Alpha's length in a punishing pace. It was brutal and dirty, the slick sound of cock gliding through the slippery hole, the Alpha snarling and growling above him.

The pounding got faster as the knot finally started to swell, the slight bulge stretching his rim as it moved in and out. Sharp teeth bit deeply into the back of his neck as the Alpha shifted closer and started to spill inside the Omega. Stiles moaned weakly as the knot inflated fully, his own cock spurting out a watery stream of cum into the bedding. The Alpha kept pushing his knot deeper as the stream of seed became more forceful, flooding his insides and trickling deeper into his womb. A base part of the Omega desperately hoped he'd catch, that he'd whelp Alpha's pups.

The less primal side of Stiles was coming back to reality, the haze of lust induced by an Alpha's call had receded and left despair that choked his breath in his throat. He buried his head in the bedding as he tried not to let the tears flow, his breathing shallow and ragged. His worst fear had just become true and he'd _enjoyed_ it.

The knot didn't last as long as he'd been told to expect and Stiles' hole was soon devoid of the hot, throbbing length. Only a small drop of cum still attached to Alpha's tip was detected, the rest having been planted where it could do it's job.

The Alpha pushed him away to the edge of the bed and barked at him to leave. He did. He had done his duty.

He had been fucked. Bred. Used.

He left Alpha Ennis' chambers to find the Overseer waiting for him, the disgusted sneer still plastered over his face. It was a wonder how he even acquired his job if he was so sickened by the thought of the Omega's, but Stiles barely cared about Overseer Harris' feelings. He barely cared about anything right now.

He was escorted to a small bathing room, already complete with a steaming pool of water and an attendant. Harris pushed him roughly towards the Beta girl waiting for them and left to find the impregnated Omega some new robes suitable for an 'Alpha's whore'.

Stiles tried not to cry as he was gently guided into the scented water. The girl used a soft cloth to rub his skin in circles with a weak smelling soap. He winced when the bite mark was cleaned, the girl didn't stop however, just muttered a quick "sorry" and continued her actions. Stiles was instructed to dunk his head underwater to wet his hair and more soap was applied and rubbed into his scalp before being washed away with another dunking. The ministrations relaxed him a little and the tears he'd been holding back for so long finally came, dripping down his face and mixing with the bathwater. He made no noise but his shoulders shook and the water rippled with the force of his muted movements. He didn't expect to feel arms wrap gently around him and hold him while he cried, but he clung onto her arms and sobbed against her skin.

He felt drained when the Overseer finally made his entrance again, seemingly even more disgusted with Stiles' appearance now that he was clean. He wasn't clean though, he'd never be clean again.

Again he was escorted down the hallway back towards the Alpha's chambers, his heart went wild in his chest and his breathing quickened as he envisioned spending his nights in that Alpha's bed. Harris snorted beside him and turned them down another small hallway to the left. A single door opened into a simple room. A queen sized bed with soft covers, an armchair and table with candles, a small wash basin and chamber pot sat in the corner; this was Stiles' new room.

He'd walked a few paces into the room but whirled around when the door slammed shut. He pounded and shouted out but only heard Harris laugh and turn a key before walking away, leaving Stiles to wallow in anguish. He slid down the length of the door and curled up on the floor, sobbing once more. His hand wandered down to his abdomen, that if all went to the Alpha's plan, would soon be swollen and full of pups.

Stiles barely made it to the chamberpot before his stomach emptied itself of it's pitiful contents. Stiles didn't want to know what happened to the Omega's that birthed their pups for the Alpha. They all knew they were never bred twice. Some thought they were sold, others thought they became the lieutenants perks, most thought they were killed.

Stiles really didn't want to find out the truth. He couldn't die here. He had to find out what had happened to his dad, and find a proper place to build a memorial to his mother. He needed to get out of here.

He needed to escape. He needed a plan.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How?” Stiles prods as he stands and steps towards her, “How can you make my life more comfortable?”
> 
> Her lips are pursed as she contemplates her answer, but Stiles beats her to it, already suspecting of the answer, “You mean if someone else were to be Alpha?” He asks in a delicately careful voice.
> 
> Her eyes harden and muscles tense, he’s right. She’d be disgusted and angry if he was wrong. Mari’s a spy.
> 
> Stiles smiles as his eyes flick between her own, “Tell me what to do.”

Stiles awoke to the sound of a key turning in the lock. He'd fallen asleep curled up in the middle of the bed, blanket haphazardly wrapped around him. A girl enters his chamber carrying a silver tray containing sliced cheeses, cured meats, fruit and a cup of sweet wine. The same girl who’d bathed him yesterday.

The sun was high in the sky, rays of golden light streaming through the drapes. It was late in the day. Stiles didn't know how long it had taken him to fall asleep, the day's events kept repeating on his mind like a cruel joke. He sat up slowly, muscles aching as though they’d carried his body for miles instead of going lax in submission.

The girl still stood awkwardly, waiting in the entrance for direction. His eyes drifted to the armchair just inside his peripheral vision, upon which a small pile of folded clothes sat. Stiles started and looked around, frightened to find any more changes to the room made whilst he was vulnerable.

The girl recognises his distress, "It was me," she admitted. "I came earlier to dress you and ask your preference for breakfast, but you were gone to the gods." She dropped her gaze and looked guilty, "I didn't want to wake you, I assumed you needed the rest."

Stiles swallowed, his throat parched, "Water?"

The girl nods quickly and sets down the tray onto the table, retrieving another from outside bearing a large pitcher and cup. She fills the cup and passes it to Stiles who drains it immediately, before reaching for the pitcher to refill. The girl tries to do it for him but wilts under his glare, "I can do it myself." She nods again and leaves him to hydrate and feed himself.

Stiles eats quickly, spending little time savouring the food, desperate to fill his void stomach. He's ravenous, having barely eaten before the choosing and regurgitating his stomach’s contents the night before. He slows his chewing as his thoughts turn to yesterdays events. The choosing. His claiming. His impregnation. He closes his eyes and clenches his fist around his cup as he tries to will away the pang of nausea creeping in his gut.

They'll know if he's pregnant before the sun sets two weeks today, and if he's not he'll be shown back to the Alpha’s bed for a repeat performance. If he’s lucky.

Stiles chokes back a sob at the thought of a pup growing inside him. The primal Omega in him relishes the thought of whelping a pup for a huge, powerful Alpha. Everything else in him recoils in horror at the parasite probably manifesting inside his previously clean womb.

His whole body convulses with shivers and the cup clashes to the floor, water spilling over the smooth stone, the metal clang sounding harshly in the cool air. He curls in on himself, hunched over the edge of the bed and makes little noise as he wallows in his grief. The girl quickly closes the ajar door and crosses to Stiles’ bedside, wrapping her arms around him and holding him tightly.

“I can help you if you want,” she murmurs into his ear. He’s barely able to hear it over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears, “I know someone who can help keep you safe.”

“Do you know how to kill a fetus?” He asks quietly, both hopeful and afraid of the answer. Hopeful to be rid of the poison inside; afraid of the consequences of appearing barren.

“No, I don’t.” The girl sighs with her reply. She leans back to look at his face, pulling out a small cloth to wipe away his tears. They sit for a few minutes, breathing in the same space, barely looking at each other.

“What’s your name?” Stiles asks.

The girl gives him a weak smile, “You can call me Mari.”

He nods and turns from her, rearranging the bed clothes into a warmer configuration. “Are there any oats? For oatmeal?” He asks her. Stiles has eaten oatmeal for breakfast every day for over two years, now he feels even more out of place this morning without it.

Mari nods and stands, fetching the tray of food but leaving the pitcher of water. The cup is collected off the floor and taken with her to the door. She turns to Stiles,

“Would you like to visit the gardens later? Some air might help things feel...” Her words filter away as she realises nothing is going to make Stiles feel _better_. Saying such things would be in poor taste.

Stiles understands though, and would actually enjoy some air, so he nods quickly with a quiet hum of consent. They’d been denied the luxury of the fresh air whilst in the Omega dormitories, he hasn’t felt the wind in years.

He used to love sitting outside with his mother a she wove baskets, using the fine reed strands only available on their western coast. They were beautiful, intricate things, her baskets. A craft he never had the patience to learn. He would splinter one strand of cane and dismiss it all in annoyance, his mother observing him with a small smile. Now he wishes he’d had given it more time, given _her_ more time.

He tries not to dwell on thoughts of mother and father, they’re dangerous for him to think about. Not when he needs his strength and will to survive here.

Biting at his lip and still thinking of his situation, and the possibility of escape, he barely notices Mari return with a clean cup and rags to mop up his spill. She doesn’t try to talk to him but does nudge him a little later when he’s presented with a thick porridge, golden with expensive nuts, seeds and spices. He turns to her, wordless in gratitude, but she only nods and continues on her way out again.

Late afternoon sun watches them strolling the gardens, Stiles’ muscles stronger now with food and drink. They’re taking a path through the colour separated gardens, this one full of beautiful purple flowers. Morning Glory; Foothill Penstemon; Snapdragon; and Stiles’ favourite so far, Salvia Celestial Blue.

He also examines a plant low in the ground, almost indecipherable to an unknown eye, it’s a weed really. They’re threaded throughout the whole of the gardens, interspersed with full bushes and overlooked. Stiles takes a few of the red tinged buds to decorate his chambers.

“It was one of my father’s favourite’s,” he answers Mari’s silent question. “He always said that the smallest of us can thrive under the biggest shadow, but when the biggest fall the smallest will be cast into the light to shine.”

Mari smiles at his explanation, saying no more of the small cocoon-like buds.

They spend a few quiet hours enjoying the dry heat bearing down on them, avoiding the guard paths and getting lost in the maze of shrubbery only to emerge where they started.

* * *

Stiles gets to know more about Mari, not through speech but through her actions. She’s compassionate but reserved, forthright but tactful, headstrong but tolerant. Most of all she is fierce. Defiant.

He makes his decision two weeks later, when his scent has changed to reveal pregnancy.

“How can you help me?” He enquires whilst watching her fold linens.

They occupy in a storage room, full with linens and towels. Mari stands in the far corner, arms frozen aloft holding a dark blue sheet. She doesn’t turn at his question, but her shoulders betray her cautiousness.

“The morning before we walked the gardens for the first time, you told me you could help me if I wanted.” He turns a hopeful gaze at her back, “Could you? How?”

She does turn then, crumpling the sheet in her arms. Her eyes are suspicious.

“I can’t kill your baby,” Mari starts, remembering the previous conversation. She takes a step closer and her voice drops to a whisper when she adds, “But I might be able to make life more comfortable for you in the long run.”

“How?” Stiles prods as he stands and steps towards her, “How can you make my life more comfortable?”

Her lips are pursed as she contemplates her answer, but Stiles beats her to it, already suspecting of the answer, “You mean if someone else were to be Alpha?” He asks in a delicately careful voice.

Her eyes harden and muscles tense, he’s right. She’d be disgusted and angry if he was wrong. Mari’s a spy.

Stiles smiles as his eyes flick between her own, “Tell me what to do.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He slumps to the floor, leaning against the chair and lets the tears fall. He’s so scared. He doesn’t know what to do. He wants to trust Mari, but are they really going to help him after they’ve succeeded with their plan? Would they be in a position to help him? He hasn’t anyone else to trust, anyone else who would help him. He’s so alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for forced removal of a knot (not Stiles), and objectification of Omega's.

Stiles had known from the start that if his assumption of Mari being a spy was correct, then she was trying to recruit him. For someone not looking for an escape route they may have missed it; a lesser educated person may have missed it; a more subservient Omega may have missed it. Stiles did not. Stiles was okay with being recruited, it meant he had allies.

Mari had been hesitant to give too many details about the plan to Stiles in the past week, only allowing him to know enough to provide help to forces outside the castle. He was to leave his chamber window unlocked in three days time.

They were walking again in the gardens, as they had every few days since the claiming, this time they were shuffling down the path of yellow hued flowers. They cast a sickly shine in the midday heat.

Stiles was talking quietly, asking questions between bending down to admire buds. Mari walked stoically beside him, ignoring most questions. She would raise her head and look to the distance when a question merited no answer, Stiles kept trying but he was getting irate.

"What will happen when the person gets in?" She doesn't look at him as she responds, but bends to admire some Bush Poppy,

"They'll decide after they've scouted the castle." Stiles nods and turns to look into the flower beds. He continues his questioning,

“Who am I leaving the window open for?” No answer.

“Will they hurt me?” He asks in a small voice. At this Mari did respond, her eyes widened in shock and she stepped towards him,

“Gods no Stiles, he-” She sighs heavily and looks him intensely in the eye. “Stiles, that man is the most high-principled man I know, he would never harm someone who didn’t deserve it. He would definitely never lay a hand on a _pregnant_ Omega, deserving or not.”

Stiles looked away when she reminded him of his condition, the thought of Alpha Ennis’ pups inside him still made him nauseous. He nods and kneels down to admire the weed-like plant at his feet, with red tinged cocoon buds. He picks a few more to take back to his chambers, as he has done every time they walk here. Mari had inquired why he picks so many, three is hardly many, but he admitted they don’t last long off the stem in this heat, and have to be disposed of quickly before they wilt and rot.

They continue their walk towards the castle and to Stiles’ chambers, Mari loops her arm through his and leans heavily into his side as she whispers in his ear,

“He will ask for your name when he comes, tell him, and he will tell you his in return.” Stiles turns to her with a raised eyebrow in question.

“Taylon. His name is Taylon,” she informs him.

* * *

Stiles has been summoned. Summoned by Alpha Ennis. He’s being escorted by a guard to the master chambers where Overseer Harris is waiting outside the doors, sneer still in effect.

He’s ushered into the room, and greeted with the _delightful_ sight of the Alpha knotted inside a Beta house servant. He grins over his shoulder at the entranced Omega, eyes feral in lust. The Alpha doesn’t care for the girl under him as he forcefully drags his knot out of her opening, cock already finished cumming, he pushes her head into the bedding to muffle her pained screams as though her response were offensive.

Stiles’ breathing is hard and fast as the Alpha, still fully naked, bends down in front of him and lifts his tunic, tugging his pants down slightly to expose his flat stomach. His gut rolls in repugnance as the Alpha _nuzzles_ his stomach, breathing deep and murmuring at his womb.

“Such a good fucked up Omega,” The Alpha’s voice is thick with possessiveness. “I can’t wait to watch you whelp my pups bitch, fuck right into that stretched hole for another litter.”

Stiles is looking at the wall opposite, trying not to let his eyes stray to the sniffling Beta girl on the bed, trying not to kick this hateful Alpha away from him. There’s a sloppy kiss just above his navel, he closes his eyes and tries to breathe. The Alpha continues peppering kisses all over his exposed skin, Stiles wants to vomit.

They’re only interrupted, gratefully, by Stiles’ stomach rumbling with hunger. The Alpha looks up at him, furious.

“Why haven’t you eaten?” He demands of the Omega. Stiles still doesn’t look down at the Alpha when he replies,

“I was taken from my chambers before I had occasion, Alpha.” The honorific title of the man below him was forced from his throat. This isn’t what an Alpha should be, not cruel or wanton but should be protective and loyal.

“Take it back to be fed Harris, do your job or I’ll find someone else to do it.” The Alpha stands as he barks the command at the Overseer stood waiting at the entrance.

The Overseer clutches Stiles’ arm, nails digging painfully in revenge for his scolding. The Alpha has already turned back to the bed as Stiles is dragged out, his still slightly knotted cock being forced back inside the shaking Beta, savage grin baring long canines in warning lest she struggle.

Stiles’ heart is pounding painfully in his chest as he is force-marched back to his rooms, the Overseer throws him inside making him stumble into the armchair. The look he’s given by the Overseer is one that promised violence against him, had he not been under the protection of whelping the Alpha’s pups. The door slams after the retreating Overseer, door left unlocked.

Stiles stares at the unlocked door, debating whether to run. How far could he get? Would anyone help him? How would he survive on his own? No-one would take in a lone, pregnant smelling Omega in a city where they’re bought and sold like cattle. They would take him straight back to the Overseer and demand reward for returning the Alpha’s property. Where the Alpha would keep him as breeding stock until he withered from overuse. The Alpha wants to  _keep_ him.

He slumps to the floor, leaning against the chair and lets the tears fall. He’s so scared. He doesn’t know what to do. He wants to trust Mari and this Taylon, but are they really going to help him after they’ve succeeded with their plan? Would they be in a position to help him? He hasn’t anyone else to trust, anyone else who would help him. He’s so alone.

Every hope and doubt gets tangled in his head as the hour draws later, the desire for food gone until his stomach rumbles painfully with the sunset, amber light cast over the land.

Stiles removes a red flower from where they’re hidden underneath the armchair, a small hollow in the wood, and holds the bud while he eats the now cold food laid out for him. He cracks open the flower bud and squeezes the juices into his drink. The thin milky drops blending with the water to create a bitter, tangy flavour. He knocks it back like a shot and tries not to gag at the burn in his throat. It leaves him with the start of a headache so he climbs into bed, unhooking the window latch before he does, and lets a dreamless but nightmarish sleep take him.

Stiles wakes quickly, head buzzing with sleep, to see a figure standing at the end of the bed next to the window. The figure is looking around the room but stops and focuses on the broken flower bud next to his food tray, there’s just enough moonlight for Stiles to see the deep frown on the man’s brow. When Stiles’ breathing falters the man turns, slowly drawing a dagger from it’s sheath at his belt.

“What’s your name?” A deceptively gentle voice, but spoken in a curt manner. Stiles takes a moment to wet his lips and pull himself to sitting on the bed. Obviously he’s taking too long as the man tightens his grip on the knife and raises both eyebrows, imploring for answer.

Now or never.

“Stiles...” his dry voice whispers, but the quiet air lets his words be known loudly in the cold room. The man relaxes minutely and gives the response,

“Stiles. I’m Taylon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Derek, yay! *fanfares*  
> XD


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red eyes shine from the dark below and his own light up at the inadvertent challenge. A hand shoots out which he grips and helps to haul out the other Alpha with ease.
> 
> “Jesus it stinks down there. Why am I the one being smuggled through the pirate tunnels?” Dark eyebrows that compete with his own are pulled into a frown, dark brown eyes accusing.
> 
> “Because you’d give away our position by breathing McCall.” He counters. It’s the same argument they’ve had for weeks. “Plus, you’re going to be taking the city as Alpha, the least you can do is get a little dirty for it.”

He moves quickly through the castle, keeping to the shadows and listening at every corner. He’d left the Omega, smelling of fear and something strange, in his chambers with instruction to stay put and wait for his return. He hates ordering Omega’s around, but right now he isn’t an Alpha asserting dominance, he’s an assassin. A mercenary. A guerrilla warrior.

Their small band of forces has slowly throttled Ennis’ supply lines, redirecting the crops and materials to smaller villages left weakened and oppressed in the two years of Ennis’ reign. They’d bribed officials for information; stolen hidden caches of gold and jewels to weaken the castle’s wealth; kidnapped servants privy to castle secrets and relocated them to safety; they’d spent over a year developing this plan.

The plan that now involves him traversing the castle passages, keeping out of sight in disused rooms and shadowed alcoves. He knows where the master chambers are, where Ennis resides, but he doesn’t head there. Instead he follows a winding, crumbling staircase to a long forgotten storeroom full of barrelled wine and ale. He moves them to reveal a trapdoor with hinges that creak when he pries it open. Red eyes shine from the dark below and his own light up at the inadvertent challenge. A hand shoots out which he grips and helps to haul out the other Alpha with ease.

"By the gods it stinks down there. Why am I the one being smuggled through the pirate tunnels?” Dark eyebrows that compete with his own are pulled into a frown, dark brown eyes accusing.

“Because you’d give away our position by breathing McCall.” He counters. It’s the same argument they’ve had for weeks. “Plus, you’re going to be taking the city as Alpha, the least you can do is get a little dirty for it.”

There’s a huff and muttering from behind as he leads them from the storeroom, back up the dilapidated staircase and towards the Omega’s chambers. He pauses their path a moment to show the other Alpha the hidden passageway he knows leads to the master chambers.

They arrive back to his original entry point to find the Omega wringing his hands in the bedsheets. He shoots to his feet when he notices one Alpha has now become two. His scent intensifies in fear, eyes wide and desperate, but his stance is defensive. This little Omega would fight tooth and nail to protect himself.

He approves.

* * *

The arrival of a second Alpha to his chambers from the castle depths does little to assuage Stiles’ nerves that this plan will succeed. It does, however, jump start his fear of being alone in a bedroom, with _two_ Alphas.

The second Alpha is a deep contrast to the first, he’s all smiles where the other is frowns, loose limbed and posture relaxed where the first is stiff and unyielding. He also comes over with a hand outstretched to introduce himself.

“Hey, I’m-” He cuts off when Stiles flinches away from the quickly given hand, the Alpha’s brow furrows as he looks back to Taylon, “I didn’t...” Taylon scoffs and cuffs him over the back of his head,

“You startled him lunkhead.” Taylon turns his attention to Stiles, “Anyone come in while I was gone?”

Stiles shakes his head quickly before gathering himself to speak, “No.”

He wants to say more but he isn’t sure how the Alphas in his chambers would react. He knows that Alpha Ennis and his lieutenants are not a true representation of how society really is, their city has basically become a savage state under his rule. Omegas are property; Alpha’s words are law; Betas are expected to take care of and submit to Omegas and Alphas respectively, and have no place here other than to fill cups and warm beds. Omegas are breeding stock, bred, used and discarded; traded like a commodity without sentience.

Stiles remembers what their lives were like before the invasion; his mother was an Alpha. Mother was kind, sweet and took care of their whole neighbourhood with the other Alphas; ensuring they all had enough food and clean water; enough firewood for winter nights; that their roofs were water and wind tight; pups were kept clutched protectively to their sides during outings and defended with a refined fury when threatened. They were real Alphas. True Alphas.

Not like Ennis.

“-so that’s when we’ll move.” Taylon had been talking to the other Alpha while Stiles was lost in thought, he’d heard the words but barely registered their meaning. He spoke before Taylon started again,

“Who’s going to claim the city?” Both pairs of eyes turned to him, intrigued.

“I am,” the newest Alpha declared. “I’ll be the one to challenge Ennis in his chambers, and I’ll win.” The finality of the statement was emphasized with a flash of red eyes, eyes that widened in surprise when the Omega didn’t bow in deference even though his scent stank of fear and nervousness. Taylon’s brow furrowed as the unnamed Alpha commented on this,

“You’re a strange Omega, Stiles.” Stiles turned a hard look to him and the Alpha winced a little.

“Sorry, I just meant that you’re not broken down like others we’ve seen.” A sheepish look fell over the placating Alpha’s face.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” It was Taylon who answered for the abashed Alpha,

“Yes, it is.” His voice was full of quiet tenderness, and an expression Stiles couldn’t fathom on his face. He ignored Taylon as he asked the newest Alpha for his name,

“Scott. Scott McCall.” He provided with a small head tilt.

* * *

They were waiting for dawn to come. Stiles was perched on his bed, Scott in the armchair and Taylon keeping watch at the window. Scott hasn’t shut up since they arrived, much to Taylon’s everlasting frustration. He’d growl every time Scott’s enthusiasm rocketed to an easily discoverable noise level when they discovered a shared interest between the bubbly Alpha and Omega.

Stiles’ scent had changed from fearful and nervous, to just nervous now he’d spent more time with them. He didn’t trust them implicitly but he felt he could trust them enough to not hurt him for now.

When dawn started showing on the horizon Scott became solemn, his jaw tight and fingers flexing against his sheathed daggers. They knew it was time when Taylon pushed off the window and approached Scott, hand extended and eyes resigned to their fate.

“This will change things,” Scott insisted, eyes heavy with emotion, “Whatever happens next determines the fate of a lot of people.” His words betrayed his worry, his possible failure at defeating Ennis. Taylon didn’t show emotion, nor speak, but nodded in agreement.

“You need to take it back,” he advised the stalwart Alpha, who opened his mouth to retort, anger bleeding into his face.

“You know I’m right. It’s better for everyone if it’s you, not him,” Scott continued to argue. “Don’t let him ruin the only thing you’ve got left.” He finished with a grave, pleading look.

Taylon didn’t respond, and Scott left with a resigned sigh to end the argument, a short nod to the Omega and then the door softly clicked shut behind him.

Stiles watched a muscle in Taylon’s jaw twitch as they waited for the signal; the howl Scott would release to mark his triumph over Ennis, his triumph of his new territory.

When it came Taylon’s red eyes burned with the challenge and showed every sign of fighting his instincts, which wanted to roar back and protest that dominance. Stiles’ own eyes lit up gold in recognition of the champion Alpha’s roar, and watched the remaining Alpha with uncertainty. He was an Omega alone with an Alpha who’s instinct to claim had been incited.

Their eyes met as Taylon smelt his distress. Stiles forced himself not to look away, any weakness now could be his end, but that could also be true of showing defiance. He was shocked when the Alpha was the one to defer to him, lowering his eyes and tilting his head to the side to expose his neck. Stiles’ breath caught in his throat, his primal side recognising the submission, the power he’d been shown. His eyes shone brighter as the Alpha’s dimmed in respect. No, he didn’t fear this Alpha.

“It’s time for us to leave.” Taylon’s voice was courteous as he met Stiles’ eyes again. Stiles nods slowly in agreement, still in awe at having an Alpha acquiesce to him, before collecting himself and shaking his head in confusion,

“Wait, what?!”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s another heart racing roar from Scott as Stiles boosts himself onto the window ledge, tucking his legs up and over to balance precariously on the other side. He can just make out Taylon’s red eyes glowing in the dark, a target to aim for.
> 
> “This is not how I imagined falling for an Alpha.”

Stiles protested as much as he could during their departure, he hadn’t been made aware he was leaving the city. A small sack had been placed in his hands as he was told to pack his belongings, to which he had to admit he didn’t have any. A look of pain flitted across Taylon’s face before he turned to unlatch the window, leaving Stiles confused as to why a stranger would care about his non-existent personal effects.

It was true though, Stiles didn’t have any belongings, hadn’t for over two years. The only thing he has to his name is his body (though that’s somewhat debatable with the price tag on it), his intelligence, the minimalistic clothes he wore and his flower buds. _The flower buds_. He quickly uncovers them from their hiding place and stashes them in the small sack before tying it by the string around his waist, crude but effective.

He grabbed the pair of outdoor boots by the door and tripped over to the window, hopping on one leg at a time to get the boots on his feet. Taylon was climbing through and standing on the ledge just below.

“I’m going to jump down, you’ll have to jump after me. I’ll catch you.” He was told as Taylon leapt off the ledge. Stiles almost yelled out after him before reminding himself that, although the city was now under Scott’s rule, they needed to keep quiet to make it out alive. Ennis’ lieutenants would not take kindly to seeing the Alpha’s Omega escaping with an intruder; they’re not stupid enough not to calculate that ‘murder + intruder + escapees = guilty’.

There’s another heart racing roar from Scott as Stiles boosts himself onto the window ledge, tucking his legs up and over to balance precariously on the other side. He can just make out Taylon’s red eyes glowing in the dark, a target to aim for.

“This is not how I imagined falling for an Alpha.” he muttered angrily as he sprung into the air. There was a snort from the ground before he was caught in strong arms, held tightly against a firm chest. The Alpha’s breath brushed his cheek as he asked quietly, “Alright?”

“Yeah,” Stiles breathed out in response, already scrambling down onto his own legs. He didn’t get much time to gain balance however as his wrist was tugged and they were running down the dirt grooves between the trees leading towards the coloured gardens. They paused, breathing heavily behind a large tree when two groups of soldiers ran past. They were fighting each other, differing colours and weapons. One group held thick swords, axes and shields, clad in plate metal armour; the other group were adorned in malleable leather hides and brandished daggers, shortbows and a women wielding metal pointed bullwhips.

They carried on through the shadowed trees, moonlight their only guide, and made their way to the cities outer walls. A small alcove that turned into a twisted passageway revealed three foot square window low in the stone. Taylon shuffled through before Stiles followed, and they were greeted by a lot more soldiers in leather garb. Another woman brandishing a coiled bullwhip, complete with gleaming metal tip covered in blood, stepped forward.

“Sir. Our forces have stormed the walls, they’re making their way to Alpha McCall’s side and will succeed shortly.”

"Thank you, Erica." Taylon replied as the men behind her dove into action as three of Ennis’ soldiers stumbled out of the shadows, they were quickly dispatched by the archers; six arrows in each man, piercing vital organs and ensuring death within minutes.

Stiles was trembling with cold, fear and shock. The situation was making him scared. He wasn’t new to death, spending the last two years being forced to watch the ritualised executions at Ennis’ hand had given him a first hand account of the face of a dying man.

He was scared because he didn’t know what _his_ fate would be.

Taylon tugged him to his side and guided him to a tall, grey horse. He was helped to mount it, then scooted forward a little so Taylon could ride behind him, arms wrapped around the Omega’s waist.

They rode hard towards the city border, outlying villages flashing past in minutes, wind whipping their faces as they headed into the surrounding forest, the still rising sun bathing the land in a purple glow. Stiles didn’t know how long they had been riding, the horse had shown no signs of faltering yet, but they slowed once they reached a small clearing with a pond. Taylon dismounted and helped the tired Omega over to a large rock to rest.

Stiles was trying to calculate the time of day, peering at the sun through the tree canopy, when a large sack was dumped in his lap. “Don’t drink the water from the pond, there’s a waterskin in the pack. There’s dried fruits and cured meats to eat, and the clothes should fit you well enough for now. Keep your boots on while you change.”

Stiles blinked stupidly at the Alpha relaying the instructions before he grunted and dug into the pack to retrieve sustenance. He groaned in delight as he chewed on the dried fruits, the water like a gift from the gods. He changed into the clothes, keeping his back to the Alpha and half hiding behind a bush. When he turned he caught the Alpha looking quickly away; he had been staring at him while he changed.

Stiles sat back on his rock, eyes narrowed and glaring at the Alpha in accusation. Taylon didn’t comment or apologise but kept his eyes averted until they were back in the saddle and heading further out to the border.

They could see the guard tower and checkpoint in the distance when Taylon slowed the horse to a stop and addressed Stiles, “You need to relax into me Stiles.”

He looked up at Alpha in apprehension before he continued, “I’m going to tell the guards we’re going to our mating ceremony a few towns over. If you’re stiff and seem distrustful of me they will be able to tell. Ennis’ forces couldn’t have gotten word to them yet about his death but we can’t linger too long here.”

Stiles thought for a few seconds before slowly relaxing back into the warmth behind him, the arms around his waist tightened minutely in response as the horse continued on.

They were met with shouts to halt and present any weapons. Taylon revealed the lone dagger at his hip but kept it sheathed as the guard approached, “What is your reason for crossing the border?”

“My mate and I are leaving to attend our mating ceremony on my families land a few towns over, we will be returning in a weeks time once we are bonded.” The arms around Stiles became tighter but gentle in their hold, conveying the possessiveness of a mate.

The guard closest to them, an Alpha, addressed Taylon, “We will need to inspect the Omega for branding marks,” he said with a smirk, “Just to check he isn’t owned and you’ve actually stolen him.”

Taylon snarled at the guards, “He’s _mine_.” His red eyes cast a furious glow as a hand curled around Stiles’ stomach, resting over his womb. The guards noticed the action and reflexively scented the air. Alpha and a _pregnant_ Omega.

The guards lowered their eyes so not to anger the Alpha with an Omega soon to whelp his pups, and quickly cleared the path to allow them passage at the behest of their superior. Before they crossed the border, Taylon was handed a quill and parchment upon which he signed his name, his mates name and his lands location. All false of course, and they were let through the guard post without further interruption or comment.

A few leagues after the border crossing, Taylon moved away from Stiles, the cold air making him shiver where the Alpha had been keeping him warm.

“I’m sorry you had to do that.” Taylon apologised.

“It’s alright.” Stiles replied with a small smile. _‘I didn’t mind it,’_ he admitted only in his head.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wonders why he’s travelling with such a man. An Omega pregnant with a dead enemies pups, who has no strategic value nor wealth of information. The only other reason he could be kept safe is the pregnancy. An honourable Alpha wouldn’t leave a pregnant Omega in the middle of a war fray, and a man of station would be looked upon favorably for rescuing 'a poor pregnant Omega' from the clutches of an evil man.

They’re finally past the city limits and well on their way to only Taylon knows where, when Stiles has a sobering thought.

“What about Mari?” He asks, cold dread creeping down his spine. They left her behind. In that city poised for a revolution. They _left_ her behind.

“She’ll be fine.” Taylon answers simply.

Stiles whips around in his seat to look incredulously at the Alpha, who is reigning in the grey horse who’d faltered it’s rhythm at the unexpected imbalance.

“Fine? Fine?! We left her in a city full of dangerous Alphas who have just had their leader murdered and dishonourable lifestyles ruined and it’s _fine?!_ You’re an idiot.” Taylon just raises an eyebrow at his barrage of words, voice getting more strident as he rants.

“She won’t be fine Taylon, she’ll be hiding in the castle away from complete and utter reprobates while two forces clash for power. Are you really so naïve as to think she’ll-”

“My sister won’t be _hiding_ Stiles,” He cuts of the berating Omega, “She’s _leading_ them.” He finishes with a smug smile at the stunned look on Stiles’ face.

Stiles turns back to face the right way in the saddle as he processes this new information; tries to imagine the Mari they left behind with a Mari capable of leading a battalion of men in battle. It takes surprisingly little to believe it.

“And her name’s not Mari,” The Alpha continues behind him. “It’s Cora.”

* * *

They find an inn on the edge of some unknown village at nightfall. The innkeeper stays well away from Stiles when Taylon glares at him for getting too close to the pregnant Omega.

“Wow, you’re a protective one aren’t you.” Stiles states once they’re shown to a room with a bed, a _lone_ double bed, and metal tub filled with warm water. There are linens, drinking water and food laid out for them already. Stiles can’t imagine how much this cost for the innkeeper to be so quick in preparing their room.

“I can’t imagine what you’d be like if I was pregnant with _your_ pups.” He quips as he peruses the choice of food platters on the long table. There’s a loud thud behind him and when he turns the Alpha is holding his shin where he’d tripped over the metal tub.

“Well, you’re _not_.” The words are growled out with venom as Taylon rights himself and strips off his armour.

Stiles tries not to look as the Alpha removes piece after piece of hardened leather, the ties are loosened quickly and set aside in a neat pile to be conditioned before they leave again at dawn. There’s the first hint of abdominal muscles when Stiles remembers himself and turns back to the table laden with food, stuffing his mouth with roasted quail and pork berry pie. He hasn’t eaten this well in _years._

Stiles keeps his attention on the food as he hears Taylon continuing to undress behind him, the thin slices of spice cake become _very_ interesting when a buckle hits the floor. Water is sloshed into a small pail and cloths are used to quickly clean Taylon’s body before he redresses in a simple tunic and soft pants and leaves Stiles in the room alone to bathe.

He hooks a chair under the door handle and undresses quickly, before sinking gratefully into the warm water. He doesn’t ask why he’s being given preferential treatment in regards to be bathwater, but right now, with the weak scented water lapping at his skin, he doesn’t care. Surely Taylon can spare a few more coins to have another bath prepared if he so desired, so Stiles will take what he can for now.

After scrubbing every inch of himself as much as he can he dries himself with a clean towel. He dresses in the simple nightclothes and prepares his nightcap. He takes a cup of water and drips the contents of a red flower bud into it, he unhooks the chair from the door handle and drains the cup quickly, rinsing it out with a little more clean water that gets dumped into the bath.

The headache hits immediately and he crawls into the bed with an extra blanket. He removes the top linen blanket and makes a line down the centre with the spare towels, separating his and Taylon’s territory for the night. The spare blanket is taken to his side and the thinner one left for the Alpha. He lays his head on the pillow and only tries to keep his eyes open until the Alpha returns to their room, using the matching key in the lock to secure their space for the night.

The Alpha removes his shoes quickly and looks torn between taking the armchair or the bed for the night, but finally decides on the bed once he’s admired the wall of towels separating the space. He blows out the wall candle before the bed dips lightly as Taylon takes position facing him. The towel wall doesn’t reach to the pillows so they can see each other in the dim moonlight as they drift off to sleep.

Stiles is suddenly feeling emotional, the upheaval of the last 24 hours has been a drain on everything. He slides a hand close to where the towel wall ends at the pillows and hopes. The Alpha notices and raises his own hand to sit close to the Omega’s. Stiles clutches at the other hand and lets out a relieved breath at the contact. The warm weight that clings back in reassurance helps him to relax further and be pulled into another dreamless sleep.

* * *

The Alpha is still asleep when he wakes, breathing deeply on the opposite side of the towel wall, their hands still linked by their fingers. He lays there a moment, just looking at the Alpha. He looks so peaceful; the harsh frown lines are smooth, and the firm set of his jaw is lax with sleep, the slight stubble gives his skin a darker hue but is so well groomed that Stiles can’t help but come to the conclusion that this man is high born. He either must be _very_ talented, or hold a title to have performed the task he did yesterday, and with his sister also leading men the conclusion is almost foregone.

Stiles wonders why he’s travelling with such a man. An Omega pregnant with a dead enemies pups, who has no strategic value nor wealth of information. The only other reason he could be kept safe is the pregnancy. An honourable Alpha wouldn’t leave a pregnant Omega in the middle of a war fray, and a man of station would be looked upon favorably for rescuing 'a poor pregnant Omega' from the clutches of an evil man.

He ponders this situation. As long as the pregnancy is in play, he may be able to gather enough coin and resources to make his own way, leave whomever would be tending to him and find a place to be at peace. Find a place for his mother's memorial. Find his father.

Stiles lets go of the Alpha’s warm hand and rolls over to look at the weak light shining through the high windows. He needs to be smart here. He hates the prospect of deceiving someone like this, deceiving someone who has only shown him kindness despite offering no substantial reward in return, but he has to put his own welfare first.

Dawn has arrived when Stiles has finally dressed. He packs away most of the food into his sack, wrapped in cloth and linen to keep it together. He’s just refilling their waterskin’s when the Alpha wakes. He fills a cup with water and stacks a plate with food; fresh fruit, cheese and leftover pie.

He brings the cup and plate to the bed which they share between them, the Alpha groggy and gruff with sleep, not uttering a word beyond a muttered ‘thank you’. They eat fairly quickly, and Taylon dresses in his leathers; unconditioned as he neglected to care for them last night.

Less than an hour later they are back in the saddle of Taylon’s horse and heading further away again.

After a few more hours of travel Stiles relaxes into the Alpha behind him, who again tightens his arms around him in response. They stay that way until they reach their destination.

Stiles almost has a heart attack and fumbles his dismounting of the horse when the city gate guards announce a greeting to them, “Welcome home, Prince Hale.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Excellent, “The King responds, “And who’s this?”
> 
> Pale blue eyes turn to Stiles, who feels a lick of cold thread down his spine. He wants to curl in on himself but forces his posture straighter, keeping his eyes trained low.

Stiles is still trying to wrap his head around the fact that the man he’d been travelling with, the man he’d _shared a bed_ with last night, is a _Prince_. The Prince who has his hand on the Omega’s back and is guiding him through corridors while growling out answers to the incessant guard following them.

“Do you require medical treatment Your Highness?”

“No.”

“Will you be visiting the King now Your Highness?”

“Later.”

“Would you like me to show your companion to the guest quarters Your Highness?” Taylon turns and the guard looks away under the Prince's glare.

“No, he stays with me.” Taylon’s grip becomes firmer with the statement and marches them away from the guard, a possessive arm snaking around the Omega’s waist.

He’s taken down a servant staircase into barracks that are half empty, the soldiers are outside with their mounts preparing to ride for Scott’s new kingdom. There is a lone soldier strapping on the final pieces of her armour when they open the doors. She quickly abandons her task and rushes to meet them at the door. She opens her mouth to speak but changes her words when she notices Stiles.

“Your Highness, you’ve returned! What of Alpha McCall? Did all go to plan?” Her questions come one after the other without pause for breath. Taylon holds up a placating hand to still her trembling words.

“All went to plan Kira, McCall and Cora’s forces are well underway to securing the city and territory.” Kira deflates and a nervous grin breaks her face as she nods.

“Thank the gods. And thank you Prince, I’m sure he would have bumbled the entry plan had he been the sole infiltrator.” Taylon grunts in agreement.

Kira turns to pick up her weapons, two of the same whips Stiles has seen before on their soldiers, and leaves with a peck on the Prince’s cheek, a nod to Stiles.

Stiles has been quiet since they entered the keep, thoughts taking form in his mind, puzzle pieces now with the right connections finally fitting together. Taylon turns to him now, realising Stiles is about to speak,

“Your name’s not Taylon is it?” He half accuses the Prince before him.

“No, Stiles it’s not.” He admits. He opens his mouth again to speak but is cut off by the Omega,

“You’re Derek Hale, son of Richard Hale born Chaucer and Talia Hale, brother to Cora Hale and Laura Hale, nephew to King Peter Hale. Prince of the Hale kingdom and current heir to the throne.”

“Yes,” The Alpha nods as Stiles’ face turns to one of horror. “Stiles? What’s wrong?”

“You’re a _Prince_!” Stiles hisses, fear and fury fighting for dominance in his eyes, “I _slept_ next to you, held your hand, rode on your horse and shared your food. You-” He swallows audibly, lowering his eyes in deference to the Prince as he realises his position, “I’m _so_ sorry, My Lord. It is not my place to question you.”

The Prince lets out a quick growl and grabs Stiles’ shoulders, “Don’t. Don’t you _dare_ defer to me.” His tone is angry, and scared?

Stiles still isn’t looking at him so the Alpha grips his chin and tilts his head up to look him in the eye, “Stiles, _please_.”

The Omega does lift his gaze at the plea, looks into those green eyes shining with cautious desperation, “Of course, My Lord.”

The hands leave his shoulders and a hard look crosses the Prince’s face, a scowl Stiles tries not to flinch under. The Alpha turns abruptly and throws open the barracks door,

“Follow.”

Stiles does, two steps behind as he’s lead back up the servant’s staircase and through increasingly well decorated passages. They stop in front of carved wooden double doors, inlaid with gold detailing and bearing the Hale crest of downward facing arrows. Four guards are stationed outside; two women in black leather with whips; and two men in chainmail, armed with scutums, lances and broadswords at their waists. The women open the doors for the quickly marching Prince and step inside to allow them entry, pulling the doors closed with a quiet click when they leave.

Stiles finds himself in a throne room, complete with said throne, upon which sits King Peter of the Hale Kingdom. He rises and approaches his nephew with his arms outstretched,

“Derek! How wonderful it was to hear news of your success. A carrier pigeon informed me your plan was executed even faster than we’d anticipated.” The King’s smile is wide but lacking warmth. Prince Derek doesn’t respond to the King’s open arms, which were clearly angling for an embrace, but instead are now gently squeezing the Prince’s shoulders.

“Uncle.” Derek greets tersely, visibly relieved when the King’s touch is removed. “Yes, the invasion went as well as we could have hoped for. The third wave of forces are leaving soon, I have just spoken with Yukimura, her battalion are mounted.”

“Excellent, “The King responds, “And who’s this?”

Pale blue eyes turn to Stiles, who feels a lick of cold thread down his spine. He wants to curl in on himself but forces his posture straighter, keeping his eyes trained low.

“This is Stiles,” Prince Derek starts, “He was Alpha Ennis’ most recent... _project_.” The Prince’s jaw clenches. Stiles finds himself annoyed that he had to find another way to describe him other than ‘breeder’.

The King grins at the Prince’s description of his latest role and runs calculating eyes over the Omega's stature, not caring to disguise how he scents the air for the scent of pregnant Omega. The King’s smile fades a little into a condescending smirk,

“Yes well, I’m sure your assistance during the capture of Ennis’ territory merits _some_ reward.” He tilts his head in mock thought, “I do hope you will accept our _greatest_ thanks, and some coin upon your departure. It will certainly be enough to live a comfortable life for someone in your position.”

The Prince is taking calming breaths beside him, seemingly angered. The King doesn’t take notice, just stares at Stiles as though waiting for those eyes to flick up to the King’s, waiting for insubordination. Stiles is shocked when Prince Derek quickly speaks on Stiles’ behalf,

“He stays until he is ready to leave,” Only then does the King break his attention from the Omega, a slightly shocked emotion flitting across his face. “Stiles will be housed in the royal chambers adjacent to mine, and he will be treated with the respect he deserves until he decides to leave.”

The King doesn’t say a word. His hand twitches as though he wishes to strike his nephew for the vehement words, but only turns to retake his throne. He sits and steeples his fingers, elbows resting on the padded arms,

“As you suggest _Prince_ Derek, the pregnant Omega of our dead enemy will be allowed respite for now.” There is a cold glint in the King’s eye as he mockingly concedes to the Prince’s ‘suggestion’.

Stiles wants to crawl into a hole and cry, never before has he felt so undervalued as he does under this man’s gaze, not even when being chosen as the late Alpha Ennis’ next bed mate. It’s instantly recognizable that the King sat before them is a carefully cruel man.

That cruel man waves a nonchalant had towards the entrance before them, “You may leave now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A scutum is basically a Roman shield. They're mostly rectangular and curved inwards, large enough to hide behind in battle.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles looks at him with wide eyes, tears threatening to fall, a sob stuck in this throat, hands shaking by his sides.
> 
> “I prefer you, Stiles.” He continues, moving closer to the disquieted Omega. “Only you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some gruesome imagery - erotophonophilia? But not from any of the characters, it's merely an idea of what could have happened to Stiles.

It's evening by the time Stiles and Prince Derek are standing in the royal guest chambers. Stiles is glancing around the room whilst trying not to look at the Alpha who is shifting indecisively in the middle of the room. Finally he sighs and addresses the Omega,

“I'll be in my chambers, in the next room. I'll send some servants with food and to prepare your bath.” He points to a curtain covered alcove in the far corner, “Through there is the bath and changing area, there are plenty of clothes in different styles and sizes to choose from.”

He turns to leave but hesitates, “I'm sorry for my uncle’s rudeness.” He offers in a quiet voice, silently pleading for the Omega to talk to him like he used to.

But Stiles doesn't turn, only shrugs his shoulders and answers, “You have nothing to apologise for, My Lord.”

He clenches his jaw and leaves the room with a barely disguised growl. He catches two servants trying get out of the way of the scowling Alpha Prince, but he barks at them to attend to their guest before retreating back to his own quarters.

The door opens to find a half naked Omega girl dressed in a sheer gold robe lay on his bed, her thighs parted and fingers playing with her opening. The smell of her arousal is thick in the air, his cock stirs in his pants. He stalks forward and grabs her arm, his eyes flare red and his fangs are bared as he snarls at her in anger,

“Get out!” He almost bellows. The Omega girl whimpers in fear, baring her neck as her eyes flash gold. She hurriedly collects the thicker robe discarded on the ottoman and almost runs out of his sight.

He wrinkles his nose in distaste at the residual smell of Omega arousal when he faceplants onto the bedding. He lets out a groan and rolls over to stare at the ceiling, wondering why this _defiant_ Omega is suddenly so detached now that the secret of his heritage is known. Sure, they don’t really know each other but he believes he doesn’t deserve this sardonic respect that is directed at him.

He gets up off the bed, stripping off his leathers and underclothes as he enters the bathing area. His room’s layout is exactly the same as Stiles', as it is supposed to be a guest chamber. His supposed chambers, the Prince of Hale’s chambers, are on the other side of the castle with the King’s. After his mother died when he was aged 15, and Peter ascended to the throne not long after, he chose these smaller, simpler rooms and never returned to the ones he'd had since birth. He has no need to be so close to the King.

He flexes his feet in the already filled tub (no doubt the servants were immediately made aware of his return), before sinking fully into the perfumed water. Normally he berates the servants for using to many fragrant oils in his bathwater (really, who wants to smell like a garden), but tonight he is grateful as it will help cure the stench of travel and horse. A coarsely woven scrubbing mitten is used with his usual soap to slough off the dirt, his skin angry red with the abuse.

When he’s dry and clothed in his usual daytime attire, he leaves for next door, timidly knocking on the chamber doors for entry. The door is opened slowly at first, amber eyes peering out inquisitively. Those eyes drop and a look of fear crosses Stiles’ face as he’s allowed entry. The Omega's scent is is like tar, thick and clinging to the back of his throat.

“Stiles, what’s the matter?” He enquires, immediately concerned that the Omega is _frightened_.

Stiles is fidgeting with his new robe. He is freshly bathed, skin pink from scrubbing like his own, but he isn’t relaxed in the slightest. He steps towards the Omega but when Stiles flinches back it only makes him want to rush at him faster, implore Stiles to tell him what’s wrong. But he doesn’t, he freezes, cold dread trickling down his spine at the thought that his newest acquaintance doesn’t trust him.

“What service do you require of me, My Lord?” the Omega says quietly, clear voice in contrast to his nervous nature. He frowns, confused at the question,

“Service? Stiles, I don’t understand.” The Omega suddenly finds his feet and walks quickly over to the bed, disrobing to reveal a long nightshirt.

“I do not know what you prefer My Lord, but I shall try to please you.” Stiles’ fingers fumble with the small ties over his chest. The Omega’s gaze lifts from his task but doesn’t meet his eyes, “Do you have a preference?” He asks with a weak voice.

He's concluded now what this conversation is referring to. Stiles' jumpy nature; the removal of his robe in front of the bed; the knowledge that there are _two_ dinner plates the dining table instead of one; the fact that his Uncle has come into this Omega’s chambers and implied he has a role to fulfil. It takes all of his discipline not to let his eyes flash red and roar with rage.

“I prefer you clothed,” He grits out, teeth clenched. The Omega turns to him in bewilderment. “I prefer you with a nights rest in a safe place, fed and sated. I prefer you not to listen to my Uncle’s disgusting insinuations that you need to repay the _kindness_ shown to you.”

Stiles looks at him with wide eyes, tears threatening to fall, a sob stuck in this throat, hands shaking by his sides.

“I prefer _you_ , Stiles.” He continues, moving closer to the disquieted Omega, speaking softly. “Only you.”

Stiles’ composure breaks and he sinks down on the bed, head in his hands, shoulders shaking as he sobs out in relief. He approaches the shaking Omega and gently touches his forearm. At the touch Stiles grabs his hand and holds it tight, hugging it to his chest. He kneels on the bed beside Stiles and curls himself around the Omega, a deep rumble in his chest in response to the distress.

Stiles' sobs slow until his breathing is uninterrupted and even, only then does he speak,

“Are you _crooning_ me?” He falters, the rumble in his chest pausing as he realises he had no right to assume he was allowed to.

“I’m sorry Stiles, do you want me to stop?”

“No,” The Omega bites his lip and _finally_ looks him in the eye, “I haven’t been crooned since my mother died. The Alphas used their status to make us obey, and Ennis used his call when he... you know. But I’d forgotten what it feels to be crooned.” Stiles buries his nose into his chest and huffs his scent, letting the resumed croon wash over his frayed nerves.

He thinks on what Stiles has just told him. Alphas asserting their dominance isn’t a new thing by any means, but in his kingdom Alpha, Beta and Omega alike bicker, assert and submit to each other regardless of dynamic. It’s about respect, and who is right and wrong. Not the colour of their eyes. In places like Ennis’ kingdom, Alphas treat Omegas with abhorrent disrespect. Using them as breeding slaves, whores and entertainment. Betas are used as workhorses, beaten and victimised if they don’t contribute enough. Alphas have everything handed to them; dragging Betas and Omegas by the hair into their houses and beds, then leaving them bleeding and broken; abusing their naturally increased strength to intimidate, kill and ravage.

He’s both thankful and horrified that Ennis used his call on Stiles. On one hand it means the Omega had been violated, his own body giving up the fight no matter how defiant his mind wanted to be, producing slick at the Alpha’s behest. On the other hand it meant Stiles was slick enough for their coupling, he has no doubt Ennis wouldn’t have given the Omega leave to prepare himself. He hates himself for thinking it was better the call was used on Stiles, it’s a forbidden thing outside of Mates and the utter lack of control the Omega loses over their body is sickening.

The only thing he can do is remain thankful that he got Stiles out of there before Ennis’ lieutenants found their dead King’s Omega smelling pregnant, they would have ripped out his womb then defiled him afterwards.

He closes his eyes and gently touches his nose to the now sleeping Omega’s hair, breathing deep and reminding himself he’s safe here. _Stiles_ is safe with him.

He manoeuvres the sleeping body from his chest and lays him down over the bedding, covering him with other half of the blanket. He so desperately wants to bend down and rub his scent all over the sleeping Omega, but he can’t. He doesn’t have that right.

As he leaves Stiles’ chambers he realises that, for the first time in his life, he wishes he did.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles pursed his lips in thought. He had no station here, he had nothing. While he believed he wouldn’t be thrown out into the mud if he angered Derek, he still wanted him on his side. Wanted his friendship. But as he continued to look at the Prince he realised there was no amusement for an Omega having an opinion, he wasn’t waiting to disprove him, he was genuine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens, and the title is explained. XD

Stiles had awoken very well rested this morning. Beautiful sunlight shining through the curtains and bathing the luxurious room in a golden glow. He felt warm, safe and as happy as he could be right now.

His groggy mind keeps replaying the sound, the _feeling_ of the Alpha Prince crooning him while he wept. It was an intense feeling being crooned; the deep rumble washes over every sensation, his primal Omega purring in contentment that an Alpha is here to protect them, _shield_ them from everything that would cause them harm.

He’s saddened to think that it was the first time in over two years since he’d felt that. But it was different with the Prince. His mother’s croon was light and cheerful, a brightness that shone inside to drive away the dark. The Alpha Prince’s croon is thick like a shroud, a warm blanket that lay over frayed nerves and built a wall from his own dark thoughts, a smoke that surrounded his heart and helped it beat.

There’s a stirring in his chest, a need to repay the Alpha, an Omegan need to care for him; to offer him food; massage his muscles; scent him. He tamps down on that feeling, it’s not needed, or appreciated. Not _wanted_.

Stiles feels like crying again when he remembers the Alpha’s actions, his refusal to bed him, his utter disgust at his Uncle's veiled words. He had refused to believe the Prince’s revulsion for a few seconds, but quickly allowing himself to scent the Alpha had revealed the truth; a scent as sharp as lemon that made his Omega whine in displeasure at the Alpha’s repugnance, it didn’t understand the emotion wasn’t directed at Stiles.

He didn’t feel shame for falling asleep under the Alpha’s attentions, curled into his chest and shallowly scenting him, the now familiar smell warming his bones. He does feel safe with the Alpha Prince, last night was a fluke. King Peter’s twisted words took up residence in his mind, played on every fear that he could dream up; fears that were planted by Ennis’ hand and touch.

There was a knock on the door. Stiles sat up and frowned,

“Who is it?” The door cracked open a few inches, the visitor's back facing inwards in case he was indecent,

“It’s Derek. May I come in? I have breakfast.” There was more warmth in his voice than Stiles had ever heard before, his chest fluttered.

“Yes, you may enter My Lord.” He replied, gathering his bedclothes and securing the thicker robe around himself. He quickly tidied the bedding and shuffled over to where the Prince had placed a large tray onto the table with an annoyed huff. Stiles raised an eyebrow as he took a seat,

“Are you alright My Lord?” The Prince looked at him,

“Would you please stop calling me that?” Stiles frowned taking an offered plate of food,

“You would not have me call you ‘My Lord’, My Lord?” The Alpha growled low in annoyance, taking his own seat opposite with his own plate.

“No.”

“Well, what shall I call you then My-” Stiles’ reply was cut off,

“My name would be a start.” The Alpha said with a huff.

Stiles inclined his head in acceptance, “Of course, Prince Derek.”

A fork clattered on the table as the Prince groaned and rubbed his face with his hand,

“No titles, no honorifics, no mentions of my station at all. Okay Stiles? Derek, _just_ Derek.”

“Just Derek?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then, Just Derek.” Stiles quipped with a smirk, raising his cup to smiling lips.

Just Derek grinned back.

Stiles almost choked.

* * *

Derek had told him over their shared breakfast that he would have to attend a lot of council meetings today. They would be discussing various matters, but now that he has returned victorious with Alpha Scott’s lands secured he would be needed in order to validate treaties.

This was how Stiles learned that the new McCall kingdom is in fact a puppet.

“Peter only agreed that McCall could be the one to challenge Ennis if he agreed to allow the new kingdom to be a vassal state.” Derek had disclosed to him.

“But the military forces that helped take over the territory belong to King Peter. If Scott refuses him anything; coin, men, land, or a shared opinion, Scott would be in danger of losing it all to other outside forces, or King Peter himself by invasion. Why would Scott agree to that?”

“I don’t know,” Derek answered with a shrug of his shoulders, lifting his cup to drink. “I know Peter has taken him under his wing lately, sought him out from when he was just a foot soldier and quickly helped him become a General.”

Stiles’ eyes narrowed, he didn't believe Derek didn't know Scott's reason for accepting the role as a false King. He looked down at his half eaten breakfast, pushing small tomatoes back and forth with his fork.

“What?” Stiles looked up at Derek’s question and frowned in confusion,

“Your opinion,” Derek clarified, “What is it?”

Stiles pursed his lips in thought. He had no station here, he had nothing. While he believed he wouldn’t be thrown out into the mud if he angered Derek, he still wanted him on his side. Wanted his friendship. But as he continued to look at the Prince he realised there was no amusement for an Omega having an opinion, he wasn’t waiting to disprove him, he was genuine.

“Scott was groomed.” Stiles finally responded. Derek only nodded.

“He was groomed to a position where it wouldn’t be unusual for him to challenge the Alpha of another territory," Stiles took a breath before continuing, "but his opinions and control of that land are shackled to his own fate. If he crosses the King he will lose everything.”

Their breakfast of sliced meats, cheese, bread and fruits was discarded in favour of conversation. Stiles sat back and regarded Derek with a lazy expression,

“Were you not bitter you didn’t get it for yourself? After all, if Peter has a child you won’t be the heir of the Hale kingdom anymore.”

To say it wasn’t a question that could rupture their burgeoning friendship would be a lie, but Stiles thought he knew by now that there was more than meets the eye when it comes to the Royals in the castle.

“No, I’m not bitter Stiles,” Derek said with a laugh, “I have everything I need, don’t I?” He finished in a dark tone.

Stiles quietly sipped his drink, Derek doing to same. Both regarding the other over the table as though they were keeping a silent conversation.

Eventually Stiles broke that silence; Derek’s face went cold when he heard the words.

“Except your kingdom, Shadow King.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek sighed and tilted his head away, exposing his neck in submission. Stiles licked his lips and stroked his hand lightly up the skin, curling his fingers around the back of the Alpha’s neck, his thumb brushing a racing pulse. His chest fluttered as he leant forward, brushing his cheek against the Alpha’s and melting into him at the responding croon.

Stiles had expected fury, dismissal, derogatory words to insult his intelligence, to be told he didn’t know what he was talking about. He’d expected violence, threats or bribes.

He didn’t expect a servant to walk in.

“Your Highness, may I take remove your breakfast trays?” The servant girl gave a small curtsey and weak smile, she clearly sensed the tension in the room.

Neither of them moved, still sat staring at each other over the table, clutching cups and the air getting thicker with the sharp scent of anger.

“Erm, Your Highness?” The servant nervously enquired again.

“Out.” Derek ground out. He slammed the cup on the table and stood up, his chair thrown back a few inches. The servant girl flinched and almost ran when Derek stormed over to the door, eyes blazed red and an expression of thunder.

“Get out. Now.” His voice was stone cold fury. As soon as the servant left the room he slammed the door shut, turned the lock and directed his gaze back to the Omega.

Stiles had fucked up. Oh, he had fucked up badly.

“Derek-”

“Don’t.”

Stiles licked his lips and carefully placed his cup on the table before getting up and facing the Alpha.

“Derek, _please_.”

“You’re exceedingly intelligent for an Omega who has spent the past two years being trained to be a warm body to fuck.” The words cut deep into Stiles. “My Uncle has _stolen_ my kingdom, and sent me along with McCall to claim another. Now you’re sat here, smiling, joking, and prompting a discussion about my station.”

The Alpha was stalking closer and closer to Stiles, who stood his ground and tried not to look away from those glowing red eyes.

“You expect me to believe you’re not a _spy_.” Stiles frowned,

“What?”

Derek growled low in his throat, “Don’t lie to me Omega.”

“I’m not! I’m not a spy. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Liar!”

Derek was so close that the scent of fury rolling off him was making Stiles’ eyes glow gold.

“I’m not a spy, Derek.” Stiles held out his wrist to the Alpha, “Scent me, let that tell you the truth.”

The Prince glanced at the offered wrist, before taking it gently in his hand and scraping dull teeth over the delicate skin. Stiles’ eyes burned brighter, his Omega wanted to writhe on the floor at this Alpha’s feet in submission. More of Stiles’ scent permeated the air between them, revealing his truest emotions. Stiles’ scent of warm honey and clove swelled in the air around them. When the Omega spoke again, Derek knew it was the truth.

“I’m not a spy Alpha.”

Derek dropped Stiles’ wrist and sunk to the floor, collapsing with a whine from his throat,

“By the gods, I’m so sorry. I never wanted it to be a lie, I never wanted to suspect that of you.”

Stiles knelt down next to the penitent Alpha, carefully placing a hand on the Prince’s shoulder. Derek sighed and tilted his head away, exposing his neck in submission. Stiles licked his lips and stroked his hand lightly up the skin, curling his fingers around the back of the Alpha’s neck, his thumb brushing a racing pulse. His chest fluttered as he leant forward, brushing his cheek against the Alpha’s and melting into him at the responding croon.

Arms circled him tentatively, questioningly. Stiles turned his nose to scent Derek’s neck and straddled the Alpha’s lap, hands roaming across muscled shoulders, fingers playing in his hair, skin rubbing against each other as they calmed down with the scenting. When they had finally composed themselves, their scents were truly mixed.

They were quiet, breathing each other in. Roaming hands had turned to soft touches and slight shifting for a more comfortable position.

“How do you know I’m a Shadow King?” Derek asks.

“I put it together, but I wasn’t truly sure until you responded the way you did.” Stiles leaned back to look the Alpha in the eye, “I’m _sorry_. I didn’t mean to make you so angry.”

Derek tightened his hold on the Omega and ran his nose lightly along the soft skin of Stiles’ jaw,

“It’s alright.” He sighs, “It’s just- I’ve been cut out by Peter. He was King Regent in my stead because I was too young to rule, and too distraught by my mother’s death to be crowned. But when I did come of age I still wasn’t able to rule, I hadn’t grown up enough. So Peter and I, along with the privy council, made an arrangement that he would continue as Regent until I was deemed fit. Until then I would remain a Shadow King, making decisions alongside the privy council in the background. Decisions I gladly seceded to Peter. I trusted him.”

He paused as he shuffled them over to lean against the end of the bed, pulling a pillow down for Stiles to place between him and the Alpha’s lap.

“Not long after that arrangement, Peter saw fit to dissolve the privy council.” Derek continues, “They were paid off, bribed. So they would never speak of the fact Peter isn’t the rightful King. Even after I went behind Peter’s back to reinstate the privy council with new members, I couldn’t devise a way to make them believe the truth that _I_ am King, not him. I would just appear a usurper.”

Stiles thinks for a moment and fiddles with one of the Alpha’s buttons,

“Surely there are documents for this? Letters from the late Queen naming you successor?”

Derek shakes his head, “I can’t find them. They’re lost.”

“They were _made_ lost.” Stiles corrects. The Alpha nods.

“I’ve tried so much Stiles,” Derek’s voice cracks over the words, tears well in his eyes, “I can’t find any proof that I’m the legitimate ruler, my allies have found nothing but dead ends, and Peter mocks my every move.” He buries his face in Stiles chest, “I’m so _scared_. I’m scared of what Peter will do to my people.”

Stiles holds the weeping Alpha, running his hands over all the skin he can reach, humming in his ear; his Omegan instinct takes over for a moment as he peppers gentle kisses wherever he can reach, temple, cheek, nose, chin, _lips_. He pauses.

A hand curls around his neck, massaging the muscle as bright gold and burning red eyes stare at each other. Just holding the other’s gaze as they feel all they are flit between them. They let the moment pass, it isn’t the right time.

Not yet.

* * *

They unravel from each other an hour later as the sun draws higher, casting warm rays that bathe their changed relationship. They don’t speak of it, but hold each other’s hands, tactile touches as they move around, a connection clicking into place as they lock eyes.

“I have to go,” Derek whispers into Stiles’ hair as he holds him close, “The privy council are waiting, they’ll only tolerate so much. I need their favour, no matter how small it is.”

Stiles hums into the Alpha’s chest, rubbing his cheek over the soft embroidered cloth. “You _need_ your people’s favour.” He raises his gaze to Derek's, “We need to show the kingdom that you are the better choice over Peter, and that you _are_ the rightful King.”

“We?” Derek chokes out, suddenly struck with emotion; hope.

“Yes, we.” The look of conviction in the Omega’s eyes makes Derek want to weep with joy. “You saved my life when you rescued me from Ennis’ lands, let me repay that by helping you to save your lands.”

Stiles hand curls around the Alpha’s neck and pulls him down to touch their foreheads together, “Let me help you, My Shadow King.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kings and Queens and Vagabonds by Ellem has been stuck in my head, on repeat, while I write this. I don't know why, it's not overly relevant.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek is pitied and belittled, Stiles initiates a rebellion, and a truth is almost revealed.
> 
> "As he shuts the privy council chamber door behind him all activity inside the room stops. His steps halt as he realises they’re staring at him, it takes a moment to understand why; he’s _grinning_."

There’s heaviness in Derek’s chest as he leaves the Omega’s chambers. It isn’t a dark weight, but a grounding pressure. Something to settle him, something to cherish and let flourish. It’s the first time he’s felt this. Sure he has allies, acquaintances, friends _._ But this. This is the tentative potential of _companionship._

Stiles had allowed Derek to croon him twice, use his teeth to expose the Omega’s scent, and they’d just _scent marked_ each other. Stiles is walking around absolutely _bathed_ in his scent, so everyone else knows who had been worthy of being close to the Omega.

Derek gets a thrill every time someone passes him in the hallway as he makes his way to the privy council chambers; they falter in their steps and reflexively breathe deep, their eyes going wide. The virgin Prince covered in Omega scent will be the focus of the kingdom’s gossip by day’s end.

As he shuts the privy council chamber door behind him all activity inside the room stops. His steps halt as he realises they’re staring at him, it takes a moment to understand why; he’s _grinning._ Immediately he loses the grin and adopts his usual scowl as he takes his seat next to Peter, who curls his lip in disgust. Derek frowns; didn’t Peter pressure Stiles to try and bed him anyway? He purses his lips and turns his attention to the magnitude of documents piled on the central table; taxation increments; crop regulation; military drafts; _executions._

Derek throws a sharp look at Peter and thrusts the execution order at him, “What is this?!” He spits out with a growl.

Peter takes the parchment between finger and thumb as though it’s diseased and simply answers, “Extermination.”

Derek growls low in his throat. Peter throws the offending document thrown onto the table once more.

“Who are you killing now?” Derek demands.

Peter turns a hard stare to his nephew. “Just a peasant who thought to _question_ his King.”

Derek turns away from his Uncle and clenches his jaw, any rebuttal now would only further damage his own reputation with the privy council. He and Peter can only snipe at each other behind closed doors without affecting their advisers' (and the public’s) opinion. Right now any retaliation could give them the opinion he is not much more than a querulous child.

Peter smirks at gaining the upper hand and finally grants his attention to the adviser who’s been trying to gain it for several minutes.

Derek takes the execution order from the table again and notes the details of who this man is; name, date of birth, citizenship, dynamic, and the reason and date of his upcoming execution. He’s relieved to find that it’s still three weeks until the prisoner has his date with death, so it’ll give Derek plenty of time to talk with him.

He won’t allow Peter to let his people die without explanation, whether through negligence or the headman’s axe.

* * *

It’s four hours later when Derek can finally leave the privy council chambers. He’s hungry, thirsty, tired and _furious._ He spent the entire time being shut out by Peter; mocked for every suggestion he puts forth; given pitiful looks by the advisers as though he hasn’t the intelligence to keep up; smirked at whenever a document required the signature of the King to be valid. Derek wants to kill something.

He’d planned to go to the kitchens and bring food to Stiles’ chambers to eat while they talked, but instead he redirects to the gardens; he needs fresh air to clear his head first.

Derek walks aimlessly through the trees following the small river to the West, yellow petals floating on its surface as it flows sluggishly downhill. He walks over to the bank and takes off his boots, standing on a rock and dipping his feet in the water. Some tension starts to leave his body as the cool water soothes hot skin. He cracks his toes and ankle bones as he stretches his feet but is suddenly struck by immense guilt. _Stiles._ He needs to bring him out here. The Omega hasn’t had a lick of freedom for years. Even now he’s little more than a prisoner in his chambers.

As Derek returns to the castle he comes by the kitchen’s plot, a twenty metre square patch of land that plays host to fragrant herbs and vegetables. He takes a moment to identify each plant, wondering if the kitchens will let him prepare and cook a meal for Stiles; hunt fresh meat with his own weapons; dig up vegetables and gather herbs with his bare hands; obtain fresh water from the well to make a thick stew; pummel bread dough into a loaf to bake and carve their initials into the surface. His Alpha thrums in pleasure at the thought of the Omega being sustained by his efforts. Being praised by Stiles is a greatest personal honour he wants to achieve.

He can’t explain it yet, but there’s something warm inside the Omega that hasn’t been extinguished by his ordeals. Something fierce and ancient in his eyes that promises pain to whomever harms those he loves. Something light and pure that wraps around you like a cloak when he laughs. There is a yearning for life and a promise of acceptance in Stiles. Derek feels humbled just to be in his presence.

Derek is distracted from his thoughts when he spies small weed-like plants interspersed with the vegetables. Red pods that fade to yellow and unripe green, each plant holding it’s fruit like a bunch of tapered grapes. He inspects them closer. In their natural habitat he recognises it now.

They’re definitely what Stiles had in his chambers while he was in Ennis’ lands.

* * *

Stiles is finishing choosing today’s clothing. Unhooking the last garment, a dark blue embroidered doublet, he spreads it out over the bed linen next to others he has chosen. It’s a beautiful fabric that fits slim to his form, stopping just after his hips, stitched with fine silver thread that catches the sunlight. It accents the light grey trousers and dark leather boots he’d found in the rear of the closet, seemingly cast aside as they are of lesser quality than the others. But for Stiles they’re a comfort. Ordinary clothing he’s grown up with and had been refused basic access to for years.

A servant had come to fill his bath and take away the breakfast dishes, the same boy who had filled his bath the first time, who is now casting curious glances at him. Stiles tried not to notice, tried not to let it linger in this thoughts as to why he’s being scrutinised. Has the King ordered them to spy on him? Are they curious about the pregnant Omega of a dead enemy Alpha? Is it something worse? His whirlwind thoughts finally spill out of his mouth when the servant watches him for a little too long.

“What?” He demands, turning fully to face the tall, curly haired servant. The boy startles and fumbles a plate, dropping the small amount of leftovers onto the floor.

“Shit!” He exclaims, diving after the fallen food before looking up again from the floor, horrified and apologetic. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to curse, My Lord.”

Stiles is taken aback, utterly shocked. “I- No- Don’t-” He takes a deep breath, loosening the coil in his throat. “I’m _not_ a lord.”

“I’m sorry, My-” The servant cuts off, mouth working around voiceless words trying to decide how to address the Omega.

“I don’t _have_ a title. Just call me Stiles.” He huffs.

The boy frowns, “But you’re the Prince’s Consort. Surely-”

Stiles can’t help it, he laughs. “The Prince’s what?! Oh Gods, that’s not even _close_ to the truth.” Stiles paces between the bed and the window, trying to find the words to explain just what he is to Derek. But that us also a problem, even _Stiles_ doesn’t know what that is.

“I’m not a Consort, nor a prostitute, nor a courtesan. I’m nobody, nothing.”

“But you’re pregnant with his child, yes?”

Stiles’ blood freezes in his veins. Is that what the castle servants think? That Stiles is some poor Omega who spread their legs for the Prince of Hale and is now being housed like a mistress, like a shameful secret. A sudden understanding cements a plan in his mind, he just hopes Derek won’t kill him for it.

He turns to the servant, kneeling down and grasping his hands, eyes pleading and voice desperate, “You _can’t_ say anything.” He implores the boy, “Do you understand? The King will kick me out as soon as I am not pregnant.”

The servant frowns and looks down to Stiles’ stomach, “But what of the baby? Surely you’d be needed to rear the child?”

Stiles drops the servant’s hands and fidgets with his robe shaking his head. “I don’t know,” He admits. “He’s tried to manipulate Derek and I before.” Stiles readily uses Derek’s name instead of his title, enforcing the lie that they’re in a more intimate relationship. “The King would _not_ approve of this.” Stiles gestures to himself, “He thinks that- That Derek isn’t-” He bites his lip and sucks in a shaky breath.

“That Derek isn’t the father?” The servant fills in for him. Stiles nods his head.

They sit in silence for a moment, still knelt on the floor with the spilled food. The servant absorbing the new information, Stiles hating himself for this deception.

“What can I do?” The boy says, looking at Stiles with a bold expression. “The King shouldn’t be able to separate a child from their parent without cause. It’s cruel.” The boy’s words are thick with personal experience and Stiles hates himself a little more.

“The King will not be kind if he thinks Derek has a child,” Stiles implores. “He would not allow an heir to live, as it would not be his own.” Understanding settles in the servant’s eyes, a nervous anger taking root; one which Stiles seeks to develop.

“We need something to argue the King,” Stiles says hesitantly, careful not to push too far, this is treason after all. “We need something that the King would not like to make public.”

“You wish to-” The servant hisses quietly, cutting off when he realises his words could be overheard. “You want to do _that_ to the King?” The servant looks frightened now, as he should be when one talks of such matters.

Stiles sighs and gives a weak smile, clutching the servant’s hand tighter for a moment before letting go. “Do not put yourself in harm's way, I would not see you punished for trying to help an unborn child. Think no more of it.” Stiles stands and wanders over to the bathing area. “We should not speak of this anymore.” He dismisses the servant in a gentle whisper.

The servant’s lips purse as he prepares to question Stiles further, but is stopped when there is a knock on the chamber door. Stiles smiles at the familiar pattern as the door opens to reveal Derek, chilled air having left a light flush on his skin, eyes seeking out Stiles immediately; his posture softening when he sees him standing in the sunlight. The servant hastily removes the debris from the floor and backs from the room, throwing Stiles a wary smile and a nod as he retreats.

Derek seems to be in a strange mood; disgruntled and apprehensive but warm. He stands in the middle of the room, clutching a small cloth, feet wanting to shift nervously. “What’s that?” Stiles enquires as he approaches, nodding to the small bundle in Derek’s hand.

Derek’s eyes search Stiles’ face before carefully unrolling the cloth, “Douglas Milkvetch,” He answers. Stiles’ heart sinks, dread trickles down his spine. He’s confused as Derek watches him, no anger or disgust mar his expression, only acceptance and lo-

“We need to talk.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He smells frightened.  
> “Talk about what?” Stiles says stiffly.  
> Derek holds the pods higher, Stiles’ eyes follow the movement and flicker with worry.  
> “These, Stiles.” Derek replies. “I recognise the scent now, the scent you’ve carried since we met.”"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning in end note about blunt word usage.

A muscle ticks in Stiles’ jaw when Derek says the words. His posture becomes simultaneously still and vibrating with the need to move, to flee. He smells frightened.

“Talk about what?” Stiles says stiffly.

Derek holds the pods higher, Stiles’ eyes follow the movement and flicker with worry.

“These, Stiles,” Derek replies. “I recognise the scent now, the scent you’ve carried since we met.”

Derek looks down and away. He licks his lips to wet them. “When I was young my mother taught me about these, I’d forgotten until I saw them again. She told me about how Omegas can use the natural reaction it gives them to trick people into believing they're pregnant, that it changes their scent.”

Derek looks up at Stiles when a waft of sheer terror permeates the air. He takes a step forward, instinct wanting to comfort the Omega he’s starting to feel is his. But Stiles holds his hands up, backs away his own step.

“Stiles, I- I need to ask; are you actually pregnant?”

Stiles’ eyes are wide, tears building fast and falling thick down his cheeks. His breathing is fast, heartbeat rabbiting in his chest and body shaking with terror. He whines low and his eyes glow gold, an unconscious Omegan response to try an placate what he perceives to be an angry Alpha.

Derek’s chest rumbles automatically at the sound and he strides forward, flowers discarded on the floor, to scoop the shaking Omega into his arms. He cradled Stiles to his chest, hears ‘sorry’s murmured quickly and desperately against his chest. Stiles’ hands twitch at his sides, warring with the need to push Derek away or to clutch him close.

The scent of Stiles’ fear makes Derek’s nose itch. He tilts his head and cradles Stiles’ to direct him to scent Derek. Scent the lack of anger or disgust at the use of the Milkvetch. Stiles sags into Derek, finally curls his hands in the back of Derek’s shirt and clings, sobs wracking his body as he pours it all out onto Derek’s chest.

They stay like that until Stiles’ breathing calms, his scent losing most of the tangy edge. Derek directs them to the lounge chair hidden in the corner, lays out on his back and pulls Stiles over him, keeping one warm hand on his back and the other on his neck, squeezing gently in reassurance.

Stiles stays very still, breathing softly, almost asleep if it wasn’t for the rhythmic sweeping of his eyelids over his still glowing eyes. Derek starts a croon and Stiles crumbles into him, a shaky breathe the final tension released as he finally succumbs to sleep.

Derek just keeps hold of him.

* * *

When Stiles wakes up, it’s to Derek slowly carrying in a tray of food from the kitchens. The cooks had been baffled when Derek asked where everything is and if he could prepare some food. Derek had stammered, “For my Omega....”, unsure if the possessive use was appropriate or even true. It got him what he wanted though, a clean worktop and the ingredients to prepare the meal.

He’d sliced lamb very finely and slowly cooked it in the oven on a bed of red potatoes and onions, leeks and carrots braising in a dish next to them. Everything was then added to fresh water in a pot with herbs and salt until a thick stew bubbled gently.

He’d pounded bread dough into small loaves, baking them off in the oven until they reached a golden rise. Derek had to restrain himself from carving their initials into the loaves. The act possibly much too intimate for Stiles right now.

Derek ladled the stew into deep bowls and arranged the loaves to the sides. Finished the tray with a pitcher of fruited water and lemon candies he’d taken from his stash of his mother’s possessions. They were her favourite, and never told anyone else where she'd procured them. Derek has kept them hidden away, sneaking one when he needs the comfort of his mother, the lemony scent a balm that wraps around frayed nerves. He hopes Stiles will like them.

The scent of the warm stew makes Stiles stir quickly, heart giving hard thuds when he wakes up different to how he fell asleep. He’s curled in the bed, blankets askew and hair sticking up. Derek bites his lip and forces his scent not to give off the sheer attraction for Stiles he knows it would. He would give so much to be able to curl up beside Stiles and smooth his hair down.

Instead, he places the tray on the table under Stiles’ wary gaze. “I made us food.” He says.

Stiles’ eyebrow rises, “You made us food? _You_?”

Derek flushes a little and nods. Taking the lids from the bowls and letting the steam rise. Stiles kicks the covers off his legs, wobbles slightly out of the bed and approaches the table. He looks intently at the food laid out before him, sees the slightly misshapen loaves that are far from the perfect ones he usually dines on at the palace. A small, hesitant smile touches his lips.

“You cooked for me?” He asks shyly, making eye contact with Derek.

Derek wants to shrug it off, wants to say for them, wants to not pressure Stiles in any way. But he can’t not agree, can’t not let Stiles know that this is for him and for no one else.

“Yes,” Derek answers bluntly. He’s rewarded with a pleased hum both from Stiles and Stiles’ scent.

They sit across from each other at the table, Stiles not even waiting for Derek to serve their drinks before dipping a torn hunk of bread deep into the stew. He moans gently when he tastes it for the first time and Derek feels so immensely thrilled he’s positive he’s radiant. He dips his own spoon into the meal and begins to eat.

It’s quiet, the clinking of cutlery and glassware the only noises besides Stiles very satisfied sigh when he finally mops the last of the liquid from his bowl. Stiles doesn’t even pause to glance at Derek as he stands and drags the topmost bedding layer over to the lounge chair. He sprawls, long and lean over it, snuggles deep into the bedding and blinks at Derek slowly.

“I guess I should explain my actions,” Stiles says.

Derek licks his lips and puts down his spoon, “If you wish too, you don’t owe me an explanation”.

Disbelief flashes across Stiles’ face. “Of course I do. You saved my life, fed me, clothed me, gave me shelter even though I had little to offer and refused when I did. You saved my life.” Stiles looks away, “And I _lied_ to you, Derek.”

Derek is silent for a moment, considering. He’s always considered lying by omission as still lying, but this is a difficult situation. Stiles never outright told him a lie, just never corrected him. And he wasn’t doing it maliciously, he was doing it out of fear and self-preservation.

“I don’t see it as lying, Stiles.” He finally replies, and Stiles scowls.

“Regardless of what you see it as, it’s still the truth.” Stiles sighs. “You can guess what happened the day I was chosen by Alpha Ennis,” Derek nods, not needing nor wanting to hear it if Stiles doesn’t wish to talk about it. “He chose me and... _used_ me for that purpose. He believed he had succeeded, and after hearing about what he did to his previously failed choices... I found those pods and made a choice.”

Stiles pulls the bedding off his legs, suddenly too warm and flushed to bear it. He fidgets and runs his fingers through his hair, sitting up in the lounge chair and gathering his next words.

“They were poisoning me, you know. The pods. They were slowly killing me.” Derek’s eyes widen and cold crawls through his veins. He hadn’t known that, had no idea that what Stiles was doing was harming him. “I’d accepted it. I knew that if I wasn’t pregnant anyway that I’d die. I was almost resigned to the slow death of the poisoning. At least I could die slow and numb in the end, instead of being beaten and raped to death once Ennis figured it out.”

Derek closes his eyes, tears springing quickly at the choice this brave, wonderful person in front of him had to make at such a young age. The choice between deaths the only thing he had.

“I did have a slight hope though, of finding a way out.” Stiles continues, tears in his own eyes as he looks intensely at Derek. “You _gave_ me that, Derek. I owe you everything, my life, my loyalty, my body.” Stiles’ voice cracks at the end, he lets out a wet sob and breaks, “And I _want_ to give it to you Derek, I know we haven’t known each other long and _really_ I shouldn’t latch onto the first kind person afterwards, but by the Gods Derek, you’re beautiful in every way.”

Derek stands and moves over to Stiles slowly, his heart simultaneously breaking and glowing with warmth. “Stiles you don’t _owe_ me those things. Give them if you want, I would accept. Accept them with relish and hold them so dearly. I _cherish_ you, you’re brave and smart, beautiful and bold. I want you to me mine,” He breathes deeply, closes his eyes for a moment before closing the final distance between them, holds their foreheads together and stares into Stiles’ eyes, “My Omega, but I need to earn it from you. Not take what you may think I have ownership over.”

Stiles surges forwards, presses their mouths together hard, slips his tongue into Derek’s open mouth. It’s hot, wet and deep. They kiss for a few minutes, revelling in the closeness, the release and feel of them together. It’s euphoric, a safe, dizzying intimacy they both desperately need.

They break apart and breathe hard, a giggle erupts from Stiles and he tries to stifle the next. Derek can’t help but join in. They laugh like they’re crazy even though there’s nothing worth laughing about. It’s just the sheer release of tension and truth between them that has them acting like idiots and clutching at each other.

Derek slowly manoeuvres Stiles on his side and slots down facing him, twines their legs together and uses his arm as a pillow for Stiles’ head. They nuzzle and share pecked kisses to foreheads, cheeks and lips, basking in the calm now.

After an hour or so, when the sun is finally going down, Stiles stretches and turns over, wiggling back into Derek’s chest. He sighs deeply.

“I guess we need to tell Peter.”

Derek stiffens for a moment, then pulls Stiles in harder and gruffly replies, “No, we don’t”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Stiles' blunt usage of "raped to death" to describe the situation he may have been placed in previously.

**Author's Note:**

> Fancy a chat? Leave a comment or come find me on [Tumblr](http://papurukakugan.tumblr.com) x


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